


Full of Sound and Thunder

by chiiyo86



Series: Hover Through the Fog [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Horror, Big Bang Challenge, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiiyo86/pseuds/chiiyo86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/futurefic after the end of season four; sequel to "Hover Through the Fog and Filthy Air." In Portland, Oregon, Sam and Dean are dealing with the aftermath of a difficult hunt. Dean, who has been in therapy for a few years, finds them another hunt through his therapist: one of her patients is having very intense dreams after a strange encounter in the mountains. But after a conversation with the man, they worry that they're dealing with hellhounds. With the help of a now human Castiel, they have to work against the clock to fight an enemy more powerful than they suspected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Part one**

_May 2011_

Caroline attentively studied the man sitting across her desk. Around her age, give or take a few years, he was broad-shouldered and probably quite tall, though it was hard to say with the way he was hunched in his chair. He was also pretty good-looking, but Caroline only noticed it absently, preferring to focus on his mannerisms. He was sitting legs apart, his hands thrust in the pockets of his leather jacket, and looking everywhere around her office except at her. It was obvious he was trying very hard to project casualness, but she would bet that the hands in his pockets were closed into fists and probably shaking.

“Hello, Dean. How are you doing today?”

“I’m awesome,” he said, still not looking at her. “How are you?”

“I’m good. So, what can I do for you?”

“I don’t know. Do you bake pies?”

She half-smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a baker, or a cook, unfortunately. Where do you live? In one of the camps?”

He didn’t look like he was from around here, and they had a lot of people coming from the East Coast, where the damages from the war had been the most extensive. But he shook his head, now looking down.

“No, I live on the PSU campus. My brother and I got hold of a house there – the Simon Benson House.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? I did my Master’s degree at PSU. The Simon Benson House is beautiful. If you live on the campus and like pies, you should go to the Cheerful Tortoise. The owner, Elena Darwell, is a terrific baker.”

Dean finally looked up at her, and he shifted on his seat. She could see that he was relaxing at the small talk, his shoulders not so tense anymore.

“I’ll be sure to check that,” he said, and his lips twitched, like he was trying to smile but couldn’t remember how.

“Have you been in Portland for long?” she asked.

“Nah. A few weeks. Before that we’ve been about everywhere.”

“Where were you during the war? On the East Coast?”

He immediately tensed up again; his eyes weren’t leaving her, but his jaw was working. She wasn’t surprised she’d struck a nerve, as nowadays a lot of her patients’ problems were caused in one way or another by the demon war. Maybe he’d been caught in some of the battles, maybe he’d been tortured by the demons – or more tricky, maybe he was a possessed victim.

“I told you,” he said after a moment of silence. “I’ve been all around.”

Caroline pursed her lips, trying to assess what he was saying. A lot of roads had been destroyed purposefully by the demons to hinder humans’ movement – after all, the demons themselves had no need for roads. So it was a little strange that he was referring to traveling. She only saw one thing it could mean.

“Were you a hunter?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Were you a veteran?”

He looked a little too young for that, but from what she knew about the hunting world from before the war, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

He nodded. “Born and raised a hunter.”

“And you said you have a brother? What’s his name?”

“Sam.”

“Is he a hunter too?”

“Yeah. We’ve been partners for a long time.”

“Is he older or younger?”

“Younger. Four years.”

“Can you tell me about what Sam and you did during the war, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he looked about to bolt from his seat at any moment.

“Why d’you wanna know, Doc?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you better. Why did you come to see me? People generally don’t come to see me just because it’s fun.”

His mouth twisted. “Maybe I like to mess with shrinks’ heads.”

“Maybe, but somehow I doubt it. You said you came recently to Portland. Where were you before that? What did you do when the war ended?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Stuff. My brother got sick.”

The brother was obviously a diversion, but she decided to play along for the moment.

“Is he better now?”

“Yeah, thank god.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Did it have anything to do with the war?”

Dean sent her a sharp look. “Why are you asking about my brother? It’s none of your business.”

“You were the one talking about him. I’m more interested in you. Were you sick too, Dean? Were you hurt during the war?”

“No.”

“You told me you were a hunter, that you’ve been all your lives. Aren’t you hunting anymore?”

“No.”

“Why is that?”

“I can’t.”

Something was wrong, Caroline spotted it almost immediately. Once more, he wasn’t looking at her, but he wasn’t looking at anything else in the room either, instead staring vaguely into nothing, like he was deep in thought. He was blinking slowly, almost dreamily.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m here.” His tone was monotonous, almost bored.

“Where is here exactly?”

“It’s your office.”

She nodded, even though he wasn’t paying attention to her. “Yes, very good. Where is my office?”

“It’s, uh.” He moved in his seat and turned his head slightly, but still wasn’t focusing on her. “In Portland?”

“Yes, it is. Now can you tell me what you can see in my office? Dean?”

“Hmm.”

“What can you see?”

His eyes flickered. “A desk. Dark blue curtains. Some green plant.”

“It’s a lemon tree.”

He blinked, and this time his eyes locked with hers. “Doc? What’s going on?”

“You went away for a moment.”

He frowned. “What do you mean? I’m here.”

“Physically, yes, but not in mind. It’s called dissociation. Simply put, it’s your mind trying to shut down from something painful. Have you had that feeling before? Like you’re not quite present, or like the world around you isn’t real?”

His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “Sometimes, it’s like I’m not quite… in control, like maybe it’s not really me controlling my body. But I thought it was just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t… I can’t, I don’t know.”

He was getting a little agitated, tugging at the collar of his flannel shirt like he didn’t have enough air. Caroline contained a sigh – if he dissociated again, they weren’t going to get anywhere.

“Maybe it’s enough for today,” she said gently. “Come back on Thursday?”

He nodded, and stood up so fast he almost knocked over his chair. He was out of the room without another word.

Caroline leaned back on her seat. She wasn’t sure he would come back; a lot of people didn’t and she had too many patients to worry about it, too many people who needed her help. She just hoped she would be able to help this one too.

\---

_January 2014_

Sam’s eyes followed the course of the clouds in the sky, the big fleecy masses moving lazily in a pace that soothed Sam, made him feel like nothing was really that important or painful. They were lucky to see some blue sky; it had been nothing but gray for the past week. The air was cold in a sharp way that Sam infinitely preferred to humidity, even though it reminded him of the mountains, of Government Camp, of the shadows.

“Hey, Sam! Sam!”

The irritation in the voice made it sound like his name had been called a few times already. Sam stood up reluctantly, pushing himself up with his hands on his thighs, knees creaking. He turned to see Kelly, standing in the doorway, frowning at him with a hand on her hip like she was a scowling mother.

“You called me?” he asked, and was amused when she glared.

“You deaf or what? I’ve been yelling myself hoarse. Fucking phone has been ringing for you.”

Sam had a quick look around. “Where’s Anna?”

“Where’s your brother?” she retorted. “We’re not attached at the hip anymore than you and Dean are.” She pursed her lips. “Anna’s studying at the library. I needed some sleep.”

“Okay. And who’s it?”

“Who’s what?”

“Who’s on the phone?”

“Some woman. Says her name is Ellen.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?”

Without waiting for an answer, Sam climbed up the few stairs to the porch and went to push open the entrance door. He heard Kelly grumble, “Gonna be fucking late for class,” but he picked up the phone in the hallway and his attention was elsewhere.

“Hey, Ellen. It’s good to hear from you.”

“Hey, sweetie. It’s good to hear from you too, especially given how rarely it happens.”

Sam lowered his head, properly contrite even though Ellen couldn’t see him.

“I know, we don’t call very often.”

“I’d say almost never. I think I hear even less from you since you’ve had that phone installed than when all I got were postcards. At least I can pin the postcards in my kitchen.”

“I know, I’m sorry. We’ll do better, I promise.”

The sound of her warm chuckle vibrated in Sam’s ear. “Yeah, I’m not holding my breath too much on that one. So how are you? How’s that brother of yours?”

Sam leaned against the wall, settling for the conversation.

“Good, we’re good. I got a new job at the PSU library.” It was six-month old news, but Sam wasn’t about to draw attention to that. “Dean and I also got our hunting licenses.”

“That’s good.” There was a series of muffled noise, like Ellen was busy in the kitchen, which was confirmed by the sound of running water. “I heard about what happened in Government Camp,” she said.

Sam’s brow furrowed and he pushed himself off the wall.

“You did? How is that possible? What did you hear?”

“I know you Winchesters don’t hang out much with hunters, but word travels fast among us, and I always have an ear out. Hardison tried to find refuge with some old hunter buddies. Said he had some fall out with the Winchesters in Government Camp.”

Sam closed his eyes. “Shit, we don’t need another hunter crusade against us.”

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I don’t think it’ll happen. Word is also that the police are looking for Hardison for black magic use, and this doesn’t sit well with most hunters. I don’t think he’ll get much help.”

“Have you ever met Hardison?”

“A few times before the war, at the old Roadhouse. Polite guy, kept to himself. I saw him one more time after the war. He looked different, but then who didn’t?”

“Did you know that his daughter died?”

“No. I didn’t even know he had a daughter. Now, are you gonna tell me what exactly went down between you? From what I’ve heard, it sounds like really bad things happened in Government Camp.”

“Yeah, you can say that.”

Sam told Ellen the whole story – the shadows in Government Camps; the fire of the Mt Hood Cultural Center and Museum by the town folks, burning alive formerly possessed people; Hardison’s revenge. It was so fresh in his mind, the horror of what they’d seen and heard there. When he finished his story, he heard Ellen sigh, and a clunk of metal, like she was putting something in the sink.

“Another good man lost to the war,” she said. “I want to say that he should have known better than meddling with things he didn’t understand, but grief makes people do crazy things.

“Yeah.” Sam couldn’t contradict her on that.

“How’s your brother doing after all that?”

Ellen was trying to hide it, but the worry was unmistakable in her voice, and Sam couldn’t blame her. Dean had scared them all pretty badly. Sam’s eyes flickered to the open door before he could help himself, hoping to see his brother materialize there.

“He’s doing good,” he said. “Much better than I thought he would. I was afraid it would be a major set back for him but he seems to be holding up pretty well. He’s with his therapist right now. Should be back home any minute.”

“Well, tell him I say hi. I gotta go now, Sam. Jo’s coming back from a hunt and I need to get her room ready.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling, Ellen. Give Jo a hug from me.”

“Will do. Bye, Sam.”

Sam was about to hang up when he heard the faint sound of Ellen calling his name.

“Yeah?” he said.

“I forgot to tell you something,” Ellen said. “I had a visit from an old friend of yours. Said your house was his next stop.”

They didn’t have that many friends left, but it took Sam a moment to figure who Ellen was talking about. He felt his lips curve into a smile.

“Castiel is coming?”

“That’s what he told me. I figured you could do with a little warning. I know your brother doesn’t handle surprises very well.”

“I think he’ll like this one. But thanks for the heads up, Ellen.”

Sam hung up and went back to waiting for his brother on the porch stairs. The sun had come out and Sam closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the warmth on his face.

\---

“That’ll be all for today,” Caroline said.

“Thanks, Doc.”

Dean glanced up at the clock on the wall. 4:30 – it meant that Sam was off work and was probably back home by now. Dean’s stomach was grumbling; it was a little early for dinner but maybe they could grab some pie at Elena’s and…

“Dean?”

Caroline was looking at him, something in her eyes that Dean couldn’t decipher.

“What?” Had he zoned out? “Did I do something weird?”

She chuckled, pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear in what looked like a nervous gesture, and that was strange in itself. Caroline was always perfect composed – or at least she was during therapy.

“No,” she said. “I just… I wanted to ask you something.”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “You ask me questions all the time.”

“Yes, but not like… This doesn’t have anything to do with your therapy. I just wanted…” She pressed her lips and her eyes flickered, like she was looking for the right words. “Your professional opinion. It’s about one of my patients.”

“Uh, don’t you have colleagues for that? I’m not a shrink.”

“Yes, that’s the thing. I…” She licked her lips, quick pink of the tip of her tongue darting between her lips, then looked at him. “I don’t think that a shrink is what he needs.”

Dean leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You think something supernatural is going on with that patient of yours. Okay, you have my attention. Shoot, Doc. What’s going on?”

“The patient came to see me because he suffers from very vivid and persistent dreams. The dreams are so bad that they affect the way he functions in real life. But recently he confessed that he had seen something before the dreams began. Something he couldn’t believe was real. Not a demon, because that… No one can deny it anymore. Something else. Before the war I would have thought that he was delusional, but…” She shook her head, and there was something strangely uncertain about the way she looked down. “I don’t know anymore.”

She had joined her fingers and her thumbs were rubbing against each other. She was even paler than usual and it brought out the blue of her eyes and the darkness of her hair. For the first time, Dean wondered just how old she was, how long she had done this job. She couldn’t be much older than him, maybe even younger.

“Sam and I can look into it,” he said.

“Or maybe you can give me the number of a colleague of yours?” she said. “The reason I’m telling you about it is that I don’t know any other hunters, and, well…”

She hesitated, and Dean decided he could spare her from having to say it. “Hunters have the reputation of being crazy.” He smirked. “From my experience, it’s not exactly wrong.”

“Do you have anyone to recommend me?” She sounded surer of herself.

“Well, not to brag or anything but Sam and I are among the best. I know it’s probably difficult for you to believe after spending so much time trying to fix me but…”

“Dean,” she cut him off. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. But after Government Camp, you said that you wanted to take a break from hunting.”

“It’s not exactly what I said. I said I wanted to ease back into it. I know…” Dean rubbed his forehead. “I know that Government Camp was probably a bit more than I could chew but this would be different. In Government Camp we were trapped. Here I would have the choice. We can look into it, and if we can’t handle it then I’ll give a call to a friend of mine and we’ll find some hunter to pass it along to. What do you say?”

She was looking at him, with that soul-searching stare of hers.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything, Dean. I have done nothing more than my job.”

Dean almost laughed at this. Oh, yeah, she was good, he had to give her that.

“Yeah, duly noted. I’ll need your patient’s name and address so my brother and I can go have a little chat with him.”

She ripped out a page from her notebook, then paused and tipped her pen thoughtfully against it.

“You understand that I’m breaking doctor/patient confidentiality by telling you this.” She sighed. “Tell him I’m sending you, as consultants. He’s very distraught by these dreams and by what he saw, so approach him gently…”

“Hey, Doc, hey.” Feeling bold, Dean leaned forward and rested a hand on hers. She didn’t try to shake him off. “I’ve been doing this job for years. Believe me, I have seen my share of _distraught_ people. I won’t traumatize your patient.” He grinned. “Sam will be with me.”

She gave him a tentative half-smile. “You must forgive me if I sound like I don’t trust you to handle that. It’s just that… This is a very unusual procedure for me.”

“I know.” Dean drew his hand back. “What are your patient’s dreams about anyway? What did he think he saw?”

“I think… You better hear it from him.”

\---

“So, how was your day?” Dean asked.

Watching his brother draw ketchup patterns with a fry in his plate, Sam had one of those moments where he was hit with how _normal_ their lives were nowadays. His second thought was that Dean playing with his food instead of eating never boded well. It could have only been because of therapy, so Sam just casually answered the question.

“You know, same old. Oh, except that we had a phone call from Ellen.”

Dean shoved a fry in his mouth and raised his head.

“Oh yeah? How is she?”

“Pissed that we don’t call her more often. She’s also heard about Government Camp.”

Dean snorted. “News travel fast, I see.”

“Yeah. She also said that she saw Cas. He’s coming to see us.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, surprised, before he broke into a slow smile.

“Sweet,” he said. “It’s been way too long. Wonder how he’s adapted to human ways.” His smile vanished. “I hope he stayed away from the weed, though.”

Sam tried to imagine Castiel stoned and laughed. Dean didn’t seem so amused.

“Hey, boys.”

Sam looked up and smiled at Elena Darwell. Today the scarf covering her head was a deep purple. Sam had never seen the burn scars it covered, and sometimes he wondered with morbid curiosity what they looked like – for all they had been through, Dean and him were surprisingly intact. Sam pushed away the thoughts with a twinge of guilt and said, “Hey, Elena. How’s it going?”

“Good, good. You boys up for some dessert?”

“No, I’m good,” Dean said.

Sam glanced at his brother. “Me too,” he said, and after another warm smile, Elena walked away.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asked once she was gone.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Dean swiped a hand over his mouth. “I may have found us a job.”

“A job? You mean like a hunt? Where did you even find a hunt? You only went to therapy today.”

“Well, apparently therapy only got more interesting. The case I’m talking about, it’s Caroline who told me about it. Said she thinks a patient of hers might not be as crazy as she thought. She wanted me to give her the number of another hunter.”

“And you didn’t?”

“Whose number do you want to give her? We’re kinda sparse on hunter buddies.”

“Ellen can recommend someone.”

“Why ask someone else when we’re right here?” Dean’s voice was rising, and he took a deep breath. “If this is about Government Camp, you don’t have to worry. I’m fine. Unless you’re still not recovered from it? Any headaches?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m okay. It’s just that, we rushed into the Government Camp case, and look at what happened.”

“It’s different. It’s in Portland. We can pull out of it anytime.”

Sam sighed. “Okay. Tell me about your case.”

Dean perked up. “Okay, so this dude called Jake Ellison is having some really intense dreams that are fucking him up. But it seems that before the dreams started he saw something that he couldn’t explain, and that could be the cause of the dreams.”

“And what are those dreams about?”

“Caroline wouldn’t say. We’ll have to ask Ellison.”

Sam scratched his head. “I don’t know, Dean, it doesn’t seem like much.”

“If Caroline thinks there’s more to it, then I think it’s worth looking into it.”

“You know you don’t owe her anything, right?” Sam said softly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s exactly what Caroline said, and yes, I know she was just doing her job, but I don’t think it means I don’t owe her anything. Anyway, that’s not what this is about. This is about doing our fucking job. Especially since we’re paid for it now. So let just talk to Jake Ellison and we can decide then if there’s really a hunt here.”

“Okay, you win.” Sam half-smiled. “We’ll go talk to Ellison tomorrow.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome.”

\---

As his brother knocked on Jake Ellison’s door, Dean felt a sudden surge of nervousness that he couldn’t really explain. This wasn’t his first time interrogating a witness, he’d been there more times than he could count. Except that usually, of course, it was under some assumed identity.

The door opened. It was a woman in her forties, with dirty blond hair and the look of someone who hadn’t slept well in a while.

“Hello?” she said warily, still mostly hidden behind her door.

“Hi,” Sam said, smiling. “Is Jake Ellison here?”

“I’m his wife,” the woman said. Dean frowned at the non-answer, but Sam’s smile remained firmly in place.

“Is your husband here, Mrs. Ellison? My brother and me,” Sam pointed at Dean, “we’re hunters, and we’ve been told that your husband could use our help.”

“Do you have some ID?”

They had been on the receiving end of this question so many times that it all blurred together, but it was the first time that their position was legitimate. Dean could see that his brother was as unsettled as he was when he paused, then patted himself awkwardly to find his wallet. Dean extracted his own wallet from his jean pocket, got the small plastic card out and showed it to Mrs. Ellison. The woman examined it with a lot more attention than most of the people Dean had interviewed over the years usually did. She then looked Sam’s card over with the same care, before she nodded and opened the door more widely.

“Come on in.” They followed her inside. “My husband,” she started. “He… this is taking a lot from him. How did you know about him?”

“Dr. Brown sent us,” Dean said. “She thought maybe he needed our help more than hers.”

Mrs. Ellison nodded, and stopped. They were in a brightly lit living room, tastefully furnished with light wood chairs and tables, a white couch and armchairs.

“Have a seat,” Mrs. Ellison said, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll go get my husband.”

Dean sat on the couch while his brother looked around, stopping to look at the pictures on the wall.

“I imagine this is Jake Ellison,” Sam said, pointing at a picture of Mrs. Ellison with a smiling man. “They look happy.”

“Yeah.” Dean felt something soft against his ankle and looked down. It was a small black cat, rubbing against him, so thin Dean could feel the bones under its skin. It let out a tiny mewl. “Hey, buddy,” Dean said, leaning down to pet the small animal.

“I see you’ve met Lizzy.”

It was Mrs. Ellison, followed by a man who held himself hunched over, like he was trying to hide, or like the weight of everything was too much for him. It was the man from the photo, but he looked like a washed out version of himself, with the dark circles under his eyes and a grey shade to his skin.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful,” Dean said. “Hey, Lizzy.” He scratched under her chin and she started purring.

Mrs. Ellison led her husband to one of the chairs. He sat down but she didn’t, she stayed by his side, standing vigil. Dean wondered whether she was offering support or protection. Probably both. Sam went to sit on the couch, and Dean took a breath in when he felt his solid presence next to him.

“Mr. Ellison?” Sam said, using the soothing voice he reserved for victims and getting Dean back from dissociative episodes, flashbacks or panic attacks. “My name is Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. Dr. Brown asked us to come and talk to you.”

“You’re hunters,” Jake Ellison said quietly. He wasn’t looking at either of them.

“Yes,” Sam said with a nod. “Dr. Brown thinks maybe you have seen something of supernatural origin, and that it may be the cause of your dreams. You have dreams, don’t you? Or maybe nightmares?”

“This wasn’t demons,” Ellison said, insistent like he’d had to stress this point before. “This was something else entirely. More… More…”

He started shaking, crossed his arms on his chest and pressed his hands in the crook of his elbows. Trying to keep them still, Dean realized, and he started to feel uneasy, a nauseating feeling of been-there-done-that creeping up on him. For a second, it was like it was him sitting on that chair, fighting his own body, prisoner of his own mind.

He cleared his throat. “Can you tell us what you saw, Mr. Ellison? Maybe we’ll be able to identify it. There’s a lot more out there than demons.”

Mrs. Ellison raised her head sharply and shot him a look. Dean contained a grimace; yeah, so much for reassuring, but whatever this man had seen, they were way past sugarcoating it.

“It was… a month ago. I was camping in the Tillamook State Forest with a few friends. It’s an hour drive west and we used to go there a lot before the war, to hike and…” He paused, seeming to realize that he was rambling, and swallowed loudly. “I walked away from the camp to, to take a piss, and that’s when I…”

He bent his head until his chin touched his collarbone, like he was trying to curl inside himself. His wife gently rubbed the back of his neck, whispering softly.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you don’t have to be afraid, I’m here. You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to.”

“I heard them before I saw them,” Ellison said, his voice forceful.

“What did you hear?” Sam asked.

“First a sound, like a horn being blown. Then barks. Dogs barking. There were voices too, so I thought… I told myself that it was just people, out there camping like we did. Except it wasn’t like any dogs I had ever heard. So I think I knew, even before I saw, that it wasn’t… anything normal.” He took a shaky breath. “Then the sounds were closer and I saw the dogs. They were huge, big like a pony. They were black.” He paused. “No, that’s not exactly it. It was like… it was night, but it was like they were absorbing the light, like black holes. There was blood dripping from their mouths, and it smelled like rotting, like death.”

Dean’s palms were getting sweaty. He saw his brother glance at him, concern obvious on his face, and that was what made him force out the next question, “What else? How were their eyes?”

“Their eyes were like. Like fire from hell.”

Ellison was trembling harder, so much that Dean could hear his teeth rattling. They were losing him fast.

“Did you see anything else? What did they do?”

“They ran past me and I fell. Then I passed out and… I think maybe I heard… a horse? Someone walking to me. But when I woke up I was alone.”

“Mr. Ellison,” Sam said. “Do you remember ever being approached by someone before it happened? It would have been at a crossroad, and that person would have been offering you a deal. You would…” Sam’s eyes flickered to Mrs. Ellison. “That would have involved a kiss.”

Mrs. Ellison frowned. “Jake?”

Ellison shook his head. “No, nothing like that happened. Before that night nothing strange had happened. Not since the war.”

“One more question, Mr. Ellison,” Sam said. “What about the dreams you’ve had since that night? Are they dreams of what happened when you saw the dogs?”

Ellison closed his eyes. “No. Not exactly.”

He opened his eyes, and for the first time he was looking at Sam and Dean. And it wasn’t just fear Dean could see there. There was confusion too – and longing. Dean frowned.

“In my dreams,” Ellison said, “I’m running among them. A horn is blown and I can taste blood in my mouth. There’s darkness and fire and the rush of adrenaline and I feel… Powerful.” His eyes were still open but it was like he couldn’t see them anymore. “Ecstatic.”

\---

“So, what do you think?” Mrs. Ellison asked them anxiously.

She had her arms folded, her hands pressed under her armpits like she was trying to get warm. She had taken her husband back to his room, and once the door had closed her calm façade had fallen apart. Now Sam could see her for what she was – someone at the end of her rope, almost as much as her husband.

“Well, we have a couple of ideas,” Sam said. He shot a look in his brother’s direction, but Dean’s attention was focused on Mrs. Ellison. “Can you give us the names and addresses of your husbands’ friends? The ones who were camping with him that night?”

“Of course, yes, I can do that. If you can wait a minute, I’ll get a pen and paper.”

She left the room quickly. Sam turned to look at his brother – Dean was peaking at a hole in his jeans, looking distracted, which wouldn’t have worried Sam a few years ago. Things were different now.

“Dean? Are you with me?”

“What?” Dean raised his head. “Yeah, I was just thinking.” Sam’s worry must have been more obvious than he thought because Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m okay, Sam. I was just thinking about what Ellison told us.”

“Yeah, about that. I don’t think we should… We should have someone else take over.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” Dean was looking at him, eyebrow arched. “The… dogs. The description Ellison gave sounded an awful lot like…”

“Hellhounds? Yeah, I got that. It’s true that it… sounded like it was hellhounds, but that’s the thing, I’m not so sure they were. Why would Ellison have seen them? He would have to have made a deal.”

“Maybe he did. His wife was there, maybe he wasn’t being honest with us.”

“But they didn’t attack him. They just ran past him. And what about the dreams? I had dreams before the hounds came to collect my soul but they were certainly not dreams of running with them like a big, happy pack.”

“But then…”

“I don’t know if my husband’s friends will be able to tell you anything,” Mrs. Ellison said, walking into the room. “We haven’t socialized much since Jake has started having those dreams, but I don’t think anything like that has happened to them.” She handed a paper to Sam, with a list of names and addresses written on it.

“Thank you,” Sam said. “Even if they don’t have the same dreams anything they can tell us will be helpful. Anything they could have heard or seen, even before they went camping. Hunting is a lot like criminal investigation in some ways.”

“Alright. You’re the professionals.”

Sam stood up, followed by Dean. He reached out to shake Mrs. Ellison’s hand.

“Thank you for your time.”

“No, thank _you_.” She squeezed his hand. “I hope you find what did this.”

“We’ll do everything we can. I… I understand what you’re going through, Mrs. Ellison.” Sam felt the weight of Dean’s stare on the back of his neck. “It will get better, you’ll see. You just have to hang on.”

She pressed her lips in a thin line and nodded. “I know. I just want my husband back.”

Once they were outside the house and walked down the alley, Sam noticed that Dean looked thoughtful.

“What you thinking about?” Sam asked.

“Nothing just… How bad was it? Taking care of me. We’ve never really talked about it.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, it wasn’t that bad. You took care of me too. With my headaches and everything.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Why? Because you’re the oldest?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, that too. But I mean it’s different because you got hurt when you killed Lucifer, when your brain overheated or something. You couldn’t help being in pain.”

Sam’s hand moved so fast that he barely had time to realize what he was doing before he was smacking the back of Dean’s head.

“Ow!” Dean yelped, reaching to rub his head. He glared at Sam. “What the fuck was _that_ for?”

“It’s because you’re a fucking idiot. And to close that conversation, no, it wasn’t bad taking care of you. You couldn’t help being in pain either.”

Dean gaped at him for a moment, then closed his mouth and didn’t say anything.

They took the bus to get back to the house. Dean bitched a little for good measure, like he usually did, but it wasn’t like they had much choice. These days, it was way too expensive to fuel the monster that was the Impala when they could just take public transportation. At the house, they were about to climb the stairs to the porch when Paul bolted out.

“Hey, _finally_ you’re here.”

“Hey, Paul, what’s up?” Dean said.

“There’s a weird guy here. He says he knows you.”

“Weird?” Sam frowned. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know, he just knocked on the door and randomly hugged everyone. He said he was an old friend of yours from the war.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “Sounds like Cas,” Dean said. “But I don’t know about the hugging.”

“I didn’t think he would be here already,” Sam said.

Paul made an impatient gesture. “Just come and see.”

Once they were inside the house Sam heard some voices.

“Stay the fuck back,” someone shouted. It was Kelly.

In Sam and Dean’s living room they found her standing in front of Anna, like she was protecting her girlfriend from a threat. Anna rested a delicate hand on her shoulder and said in a low voice, “Calm down, he’s nice. He’s just trying to be friendly.”

Kelly scowled. “Friendly, my ass.”

Facing them was Castiel, or at least someone who looked very much like him. But there was no trace of the trench coat Cas always wore, or the suit or the tie. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that was a little too big for him and had, _I &hearts me. You should try too_, written on it.

“Cas?” Dean called.

Castiel turned, and his face lit up.

“Sam, Dean.”

He walked to Sam, who was the closest, and before Sam had the time to brace himself, Castiel’s arm circled him and he squeezed. Then he released Sam and took a step toward Dean, who moved back reflexively. Castiel held his arms open and arched an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Dean said, raising a hand. “You can do it but… You gotta give some warning, dude. Not everyone likes to be attacked by the hugging monster.”

By the look on Kelly’s face, she was among those. Castiel hugged Dean tightly, and Dean returned the hug tentatively, arms closing slowly around Castiel’s torso.

“Good to see you, Dean,” Castiel said once he had let go. “I think I upset your friends. I was trying to show my appreciation by hugging them but I might have done it wrong.” He turned to Kelly, Anna and Paul. “My apologies. I’m still learning the human ways.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Kelly asked. She looked ready to grab the holy water. “You’re not human?”

“I am now, but I didn’t use to be. I was an angel of the Lord.”

The revelation was welcomed with silence. Kelly was frowning, Anna’s eyes were open wide, and Paul’s eyebrows were so high they almost reached his hairline.

“ _Ben putain_ ,” he said. Sam didn’t know French but he had heard the curse often enough from Paul that its meaning was familiar. “I didn’t think angels existed,” Paul added, scratching his head.

“Is that true?” Anna asked, sounding a little breathless and in awe.

Dean smirked and patted Castiel’s shoulder. “Yeah, it’s true. But most of them are dicks, and anyway they’re all gone now. Except for Cas here.”

“What kind of name is that, Cas?” Kelly said.

“Actually,” Castiel said, “my name is Castiel. Nice to meet you.”

“Cas,” Sam said. He held out a hand palm up in Paul, Anna and Kelly’s direction. “Meet Kelly, Anna and Paul. They’re our roommates. Paul is renting the second floor and Anna and Kelly the third.” There was some polite nodding as they all continued to stare at Castiel. “How did you make it here so fast, Cas?” Sam asked. “I got a phone call from Ellen only yesterday saying you were coming. You couldn’t have made it from Nebraska by bike so fast.”

Sam hadn’t expected Castiel for a few weeks. Unless – unless he had recovered his ability to teleport. Sam held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“I hitchhiked,” Castiel answered serenely. “My bicycle got broken.”

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s, who had an eyebrow raised in disbelief. Sam was feeling something similar, because it was still a small miracle that Castiel had made it here so quickly. Since the war, people were more suspicious than ever of strangers, and Castiel did give out a weird vibe.

“Well, we’re glad you got here safely,” Sam said. “Are you hungry? Maybe we could grab some lunch at Elena’s.”

“I’m starving,” Castiel said. “I would very much like a hamburger.”

Dean chuckled. “You and me both, my friend. Okay let’s go. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

\---

“Afterwards, the woman gave me this.” Castiel’s hand disappeared behind the collar of his shirt and came back with a small shell, attached to a leather cord around his neck. It was white with some traces of pink and orange. “I believe it was a sign of gratitude, and she said it would bring me luck. And then we had sex.”

Dean almost choked on his mouthful. “Yeah?” He coughed and swallowed. “And how was it?”

Castiel looked thoughtful for a second. “It was very pleasant. Warm and somewhat sticky. It was rewarding to see that she looked pleased too.”

Castiel took another bite of his hamburger. He was eating heartily, and Dean realized that it was the first time he’d really seen him eat – Jimmy didn’t count, and neither did what happened with Famine. This was just a normal guy eating his lunch, and yet it felt like one of the weirdest things Dean had ever seen. Of course, he’d known in an abstract way that since Castiel was human now, he must have a need for eating, and sleeping, and even for sex. Having the reality of it in front of his eyes was different though, and brought back some bad memories from that time Dean had traveled to the future. The irony was that it was the beginning of year 2014, for real this time. But Dean kept watching Castiel and there didn’t seem to be anything in his friend similar to the desperate man he had met then.

Sam was observing him from the corner of his eye. He thought he was being so sneaky, but Dean caught him every time – always watching, always wondering what was going through Dean’s mind and whether it was something horrible and self-destructive. The best thing Dean could do in those moments was to act normal.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “Maybe you can help us on this job we have.”

Castiel stopped chewing. “You started hunting again?” His mouth was full but he seemed oblivious to it. “Are you certain this is a wise decision?”

“Oh, don’t you start too. I get enough from my brother and my shrink. Wanna help or not?”

Castiel swallowed his mouthful. “Of course, Dean. Always.”

This sounded a little more solemn than the conversation warranted, and it made Dean uncomfortable, but Castiel didn’t seem to have learned levity. Maybe he never would, and after all that was what made him Cas. Dean cleared his throat.

“Okay, good. So we have this guy who saw something that looked an awful lot like a hellhound.”

Dean gave Castiel the details of their visit to Jake Ellison, and the reasons for his doubts that it was actually hellhounds.

“So what do you think? Could it be hellhounds? Could they have gone… out of their leashes or something?” He contained the shiver that very thought caused.

Castiel’s head tilted slightly. “This seems very unlikely. All demons were banned from earth. The hounds would have gone with them.”

“Even crossroad demons?” Sam asked. “It seems to me that they were always evolving in margin from the other demons. Also, demons were leaking out form Hell even before the gate opened in Wyoming. They can get out again.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, “and I’m fairly sure they will, eventually. But it’s too soon for that. And to answer your question, all demons should have been banned. The spell we used wasn’t very specific.”

“Anyway,” Dean said. “That still doesn’t explain the dreams. And from what Ellison said, it wasn’t only the hounds. There were voices too, and maybe a horse.”

“A hunt,” Sam said suddenly.

Dean frowned. “What?”

“It sounds like a hunting party. I think I know what this was.”

“And? What was it?”

Sam’s mouth thinned. Dean knew what it was – Sam didn’t like jumping to conclusions. “It’s only an hypothesis for the moment,” he said. “But I think that… that we’re dealing with the Wild Hunt.”

\---

“Mr. Martin,” Sam said, injecting calm in the syllables. “We’re not the police. We just want to know whether you saw anything.”

The man swallowed. He was the picture of guilt, perspiration beading at his forehead. Sam exchanged a look with his brother, whose mouth curved in the beginning of a smirk. Yeah, some people were just too obvious – they had something here, whatever this was it had to be related to what happened to Ellison. Sam had a quick look around, but he didn’t see Castiel anywhere.

“I don’t know anything,” Harry Martin said. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I think you do, Mr. Martin. Whatever this is, you have to tell us. You’re not in any trouble, and you can help us save your friend’s life.” Sam wasn’t being entirely honest with the man – they were supposed to work with the police, now; they killed the creatures, and the cops dealt with people. But Sam doubted that Martin’s involvement was anything the police would have to worry about.

“I didn’t _see_ anything,” Martin insisted.

Sam frowned at the emphasis. Martin looked earnest, but he was lying by omission, Sam was sure of it. Before he could grill him some more he was interrupted by a cough.

“Excuse me.” It was Castiel’s voice. “Mr. Martin, where did you find this?”

He had a horn in his hands, made of gold and silver. Mr. Martin’s eyes looked about to bulge out of their sockets and he went very pale.

“Where did you get it?” He sounded like he was going for angry but his voice caught in his throat. “You can’t search my house. You, you need a warrant!”

“I was looking for the bathroom, and I stumbled on this,” Castiel said.

“It’s impossible! It was…” He caught himself and turned to Sam and Dean, gaping. “I don’t know what this thing is, I swear.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. “I’m more interested in where you found it.” He leaned forward, put on a stern face. “You better tell the truth, Mr. Martin. What is after Mr. Ellison could very well be after you, and only we can protect you.”

Martin bit his lower lip. “It was in my house. I found it in my basement.”

“And how did it end up there? Who brought it? Do you know?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

Dean frowned in a way that told Sam he had figured something out.

“Were you possessed during the war, Mr. Martin?” Dean asked.

Martin nodded slowly. “For a few weeks, just before… the end. I don’t remember most of it. But when I woke up, my house was a mess, my wife was dead, and I found this horn.”

Dean’s mouth twisted like he didn’t believe that Martin didn’t remember. Sam was more than ready to give the man the benefit of the doubt. He knew that Dean remembered most of his time with Haborym, but Sam himself didn’t remember much from being possessed by Meg – although he sometimes had these dreams, these flashes of something that he couldn’t quite hold on to. He pushed the thought at the back of his mind.

“Did you blow the horn?” Sam asked softly.

“No!” Martin almost shouted. “I never would have. For all I knew, it was a demon thing. Something evil. No, Mark blew it.”

“Mark? You mean your friend, Mark Ferguson?”

“Yes, he found it in my stuff – I always brought it with me, it made me feel, I don’t know…” Martin lowered his eyes, looking ashamed. “safe, I think. Mark found it, and I told him not to touch it but he blew it.”

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“Nothing. Mark laughed at me for getting so worked up over this horn and nothing happened, so I thought it was maybe just a regular horn after all. But then Jake came back from taking a leak and he looked shaken up. And he started having those dreams and I knew…”

“You knew that the horn was responsible for it,” Sam said.

“Yes. What is it? What is this thing? What did it do?”

“We think it’s something named the Wild Hunt,” Castiel said bluntly. He was still standing, still holding the horn, and studying it like it was a fine piece of art. “It’s very old and violent and we think it wants your friend, Jake Ellison.”

Mr. Martin gaped at him, like he had forgotten he was even there.

“What does it want from Jake?” he asked.

“For him to hunt, I suppose,” Castiel said. He shrugged, and the humanity of the gesture caught Sam by surprise. “For him to come with them. Our best guess is that the Hunt is calling him.”

There was silence then, heavy and stifling. Martin looked terrified, and Sam tried to think of some comforting words but found none.

\---

“So what are they?” Dean asked. “What is the Wild Hunt?”

They were back at the house, and it was almost night, the wind making the old house creak and whine like a tortured soul. They were in their living room – how crazy was it that they had a fucking _living room_ now? – and Castiel was sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor for some reason, and Sam was on the couch facing Dean’s chair, a book open on his lap.

“I don’t really know,” Sam said. “From what I have read it could be a number of things. Could be the dead, or faeries. There are so many different legends from so many different places – all across Northern, Western and Central Europe. The horn is a clue – it seems more and more likely that we’re dealing with the Hunt. The horn probably summoned it.”

“What was the horn doing at this dude’s house in the first place? Do you think that…” Dean swallowed. “That the demons tried to summon the Hunt? What for?”

“Wreak havoc, I imagine.” It was Castiel. He looked undisturbed, and it brought some measure of comfort to Dean, like the situation wasn’t so dire, after all. “The Wild Hunt is a force of chaos. Maybe Lucifer or one of his subalterns hoped to subdue it – very unwise if you ask me.”

“Glad to see that humans don’t hold the monopoly on stupidity,” Dean grumbled. “I’m gonna ask the usual question: how do we kill the Hunt?”

“We can’t,” Castiel said. “The Hunt isn’t bound by time and space. I think an archangel might have been able to destroy it, temporarily, but they’re all gone.”

“Is there any way to talk to them?” If Dean never saw any more angels or archangels it would be too soon, but they weren’t overwhelmed with options.

Castiel shook his head, looking wistful. “I’m afraid not. I don’t think they would answer to anyone on Earth, and even if they did, it certainly wouldn’t be to me. The moment I chose to stay with you, I was dead to them.”

There wasn’t anything accusing in Castiel’s words, not anymore, but there still was a brief stabbing pain in Dean’s chest as he remembered Castiel, crazed and stricken, when he had realized that all his brothers and sisters had abandoned him.

He coughed lightly. “Okay,” he said. “So much for that plan, then. What else do we have?”

Sam raised his head from his book. “I think we may be able to summon the Hunt. We have the horn, and then I can work on a ritual that may contain them.”

“Alright,” Dean said. “But then what? We can’t kill them.”

“We could negotiate,” Castiel said. “The Hunt doesn’t have any agenda like the demons have. They don’t care about the war between Hell and Heaven and dominance over Earth. We can convince them to give up on Jake Ellison and his friends, because they may go after them too.”

“We should check on that last guy, Mark Ferguson,” Dean said. “He was the one who blew the horn, maybe the Hunt is gonna go after him too.”

“You’re right,” Sam said. “Give him a call, his phone number is on the paper Mrs. Ellison gave us. I’ll work on that ritual.”

“I’ll help you,” Castiel said, standing up to go sit next to Sam. Their heads bowed together, focusing on the book, they looked so absorbed that they were pretty much ignoring Dean. He snorted and got to his feet to get the paper in their room, then went to the phone in their entrance. Before he reached it, the phone started ringing.

Dean picked it up, frowning. They didn’t get that many phone calls and it was getting late.

“Yeah?”

“Dean?” It was Caroline’s clear voice. “Good evening, this is Dr. Brown.”

“Yeah, I recognized your voice. What’s up, Doc? Do we still have a session on Thursday?”

“Oh, yes. I think.” There was a pause, and Dean could hear that she was taking a few controlled breaths. Like she had taught him to do to overcome anxiety.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling unease twisting his insides.

“Jake Ellison disappeared.”

“He what?”

Dean’s exclamation had been loud enough that he heard a shuffle from the living room and his brother’s voice, “Dean? What’s going on?”

Dean raised a hand, knowing without having to turn that Sam was coming.

“Tell me everything, Doc,” he ordered.

“I had a call from his wife. She woke up during the night and he wasn’t there anymore. She looked everywhere and she couldn’t find him. She called the police but there was no sign of a break in, no sign of struggle and Mrs. Ellison didn’t hear a sound. They think he took off on his own, and she wanted to know if he had said anything to me that could tell them where he went.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly. “Shit.”

“Dean? Do you know anything? Have you any idea of… what were the things he saw?”

“Yeah, we think we know what it is. It’s called the Wild Hunt, it’s like… a supernatural hunting party of an unknown nature.”

He heard her take a sharp breath. “Is there any way to stop it?”

“We’re working on it. Now that they have him, it makes our task even more complicated.

“God.” Her tone triggered an alarm in Dean – she sounded more than concerned or horrified by her patient’s fate. There was god honest fear in her voice. Dean remembered the nervous energy she’d shown the last time he’d seen her and felt suddenly cold.

“Is there anything you’re not telling me?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, there is. Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t know what to think; I didn’t know if it was real, if it could be real.”

 _Jesus Christ_. “You saw the Hunt, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she whispered, barely audible. “I saw them, the hunters on their horses and the hounds howling to the moon. And now, I’m dreaming of them.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two**

“Tell me what happened.”

Sam watched his brother stand with arms crossed, looming over Caroline Brown who was sitting on their couch, head bowed, her hands joined on her lap. If that scene was strange to Sam, it must have been stranger for them, the dynamics so different from what they’d always known.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you,” Caroline said. “I told you that Ellison told me what he saw.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “The dogs.”

“The dogs, indeed. What I didn’t tell you is that I went to see for myself. I went to Tillamook Forest.”

“And that’s when you saw the Hunt.”

She nodded once. “Yes. I know it was stupid, but I had to see it.”

“They saw you?” Caroline raised her head to look at him, naked distress in her eyes, and he sighed. “Of course they did. You’re dreaming.”

“What’s going to happen to me? What happened to Ellison?”

Their eyes locked and they looked at each other for a moment, and Sam thought for a moment that Dean was going to take pity and lie.

“We think the Hunt took him,” Dean said, no emotion in his voice. “They’re probably gonna want to take you too.”

“Is he dead?”

Dean turned to look at Sam, his cue to take the relay.

“From what I read, in a way, yes,” Sam said gently. “But his soul belongs to the Hunt, and he has to run with them.”

“Like in the dreams?” she said, sounding a strange mix between afraid and thoughtful.

“Yes, like in the dreams.”

There was a silence, which was interrupted by Castiel coming in.

“Mark Ferguson disappeared too,” he said. “His wife said she didn’t hear anything that would indicate he was kidnapped.”

“Then the Hunt didn’t take him, and didn’t take Jake Ellison,” Caroline said. They all looked at her; she seemed calm, almost too calm for Sam’s taste. Like she was resigned to her fate. “They went willingly,” she said.

“Not willingly,” Dean said. “They were drawn to it. Do you _really_ want to go with Hunt? Do you want to spend an eternity of violence and blood?”

She diverted her eyes, turned her head so she didn’t have to look at Dean. Sam closed his eyes for a short moment, pinching the bridge of his nose against the headache that was building. When he opened them again, Caroline was looking at Dean again.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want that. It’s just that, the dreams…”

“Fuck the dreams,” Dean said. “They don’t have to control you. Isn’t it what you always told me?”

She swallowed visibly and nodded.

“You should go lie down in our room,” Dean said, his voice softer. “We have to work on our plan.”

He pointed to the right direction and she stood in silence and walked to leave the room. Once she was gone and they’d heard the sound of a door closing, Dean dropped on a chair like puppet that had been cut off its strings.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Dean rubbed a hand on his face. “Yeah. It’s just a very, very weird situation. I’ve never seen Caroline like that… but then I guess I don’t know her, not really. It’s strange to be needed instead of needing her.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, resisting the urge to massage his temples; that headache wasn’t getting any better. “I can imagine. We need to get this spell figured out. I don’t know if we can get Ellison and Ferguson back, but maybe we can at least keep the Hunt from getting Caroline.”

“Okay.” Dean looked at Castiel, then at Sam. “What do you have, guys? Tell me this spell of yours won’t get us the whole fucking Hunt in our living room.”

Sam shook his head. “No – first because it’s a bad idea to do that here, or anywhere on the campus. If this gets out of control we don’t want to put people in danger. And second, the spell should only summon the leader.”

“Who is it?”

“Who knows?” Sam shrugged, and grabbed his book. “There are a lot of different names mentioned as the leader of the Hunt, like Odin, King Arthur, Gwydion, Gwynn ap Nudd, Nuada, King Herla, Woden, Herne the Hunter. Some legends say the Devil himself is leading the Hunt.”

“Well, at least we know that Lucifer is unavailable for the job.”

Sam reacted to the joke with a wan smile. “Yeah. Either the legends have adapted to local folklore, or the leader is frequently replaced. In consequence, we have no idea of what we will be dealing with.”

“You will have to be very respectful,” Castiel said. “To kneel and keep your head down, facing the ground, and never, _ever_ , try to meet his eyes.” He paused, looking contemplative. “Maybe it’s better if I do the talking.”

“What? Why?” Dean said, frowning. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“Dean, you’re not the most respectful person. You have never shown any angel the respect you should have.”

“That’s because they were dicks!”

“I doubt the leader of the Hunt will be anymore pleasant.”

“I understand why you don’t want Dean to do the talking,” Sam intervened, “but I can do it. I can be respectful enough.”

“You’re a Winchester,” Castiel said, like it explained everything. “It’s better this way. I will need something to exchange with the Huntsman. This is a negotiation, we need to offer something in exchanged for your friend’s soul.”

Sam started to leaf through his book, but his head was hurting and the words were beginning to blur together. He stopped and pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead.

“How about a piece of game?” Dean said. “Above everything, the Hunt is composed of hunters, right? We could give them some meat as a gift or something. I know that some people have taken to hunting after the war, when food was sparse. I could ask the kids if they know anyone on campus who is a game hunter.”

The pieces of their plan were starting to come together, and suddenly the reality of it struck Sam. They were going to invoke a violent, powerful supernatural entity and hope it wasn’t going to smite them on the spot or punish them in the twisted way Sam had seen in some of the legends he’d read.

“This is insane,” he said. “Are we really doing this?”

Dean grinned, and maybe the craziest thing in all this was that he seemed to find some obscure enjoyment in the situation.

“I’m afraid we are, brother,” he said.

“It’s not any more insane than the time you went against Lucifer,” Castiel said, like it was supposed to make it better.

If Sam had had any more faith in God and his angels left in him, that would have been the time to say a prayer. The pain under his skull was pounding steadily, familiar and unrelenting, and Sam contained a sigh. The night was only starting.

\---

It had been raining all day but now the clouds had drifted away and Dean could see stars, shiny dots randomly scattered on a dark veil. There was no moon but the night was clear enough that the high fir trees formed deeply dark shadows, like holes cut from the sky. For what they were about to do, it felt like it should have been a dark, stormy night, but the air was still. The Tillamook Forest around them was holding its breath.

Dean raised, a hand pressed on his back, sore from bending for so long. His jeans were stained with mud at the knees, there were wet leaves stuck against the palms of his hands. Not far from him, Sam was moving the beam of his flashlight on the circle they’d just drawn on the ground.

“Looks okay,” Sam said. “Cas?”

“I think it will do,” Castiel said, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Dean circled his own flashlight around, and it distorted the shadows in grotesque shapes. The beam caught on a lump lying on the ground, the dead deer they’d brought with them as an offering to the Huntsman. They’d bought it from one of Paul’s students, a hunter extraordinaire who had tried to convince them to let him go with them to do the _other_ kind of hunting.

“Dude,” the kid had said, “I’m an awesome shot.”

“Dude,” Dean had replied, “we don’t need a fucking amateur.”

Seriously, it was a miracle Paul had gotten away alive from their hunt in Government Camp. Tonight, they were doing something way too crazy to involve any civilian, and Dean didn’t want to see anyone hurt – _so many screams, so much blood on his hands._

“I think it’s time,” Sam said. He had gotten the horn out of his bag, and the instrument was shining faintly, catching starlight. “Who should blow it?”

They looked at each other in silence. Sam opened his mouth, his hands tightened on the horn and Dean knew what he was going to say – that he was going to do it, putting himself on the line as usual, always trying to compensate for some fault or another, be it working with Ruby, breaking the last seal, not foreseeing Dean trying to off himself. His brother’s guilt complex was strong, Dean knew.

“I’ll do it,” Dean said before Sam could get a word out.

“Dean,” Sam said. Only Sam could put so much intent in one syllable.

“What?” Dean said, challenging. “You say I can’t blow one goddamn horn?”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s not about blowing the horn. It’s about what comes after. It makes you a target.”

“All of us are targets.”

“I can do it,” Castiel intervened, like a child trying to stop his parents from fighting.

“You’re already doing all the talking,” Dean said. “Sam, it doesn’t matter who’s blowing the horn. If the ritual works, we’re all going to be involved.”

Sam sighed, dropping his head to look at the horn, before holding it out to Dean. Dean took it, felt its weight – heavier than he’d thought –, noticed how cool the metal still was even though it had been in Sam’s hands. He raised it to take the end to his lip, feeling a little awkward – he’d played a little guitar when he was a teenager, but this was different. It wasn’t a concert, though, he wasn’t here to charm the crowd. He waited for Sam and Castiel to take position – each of them at the end of an imaginary triangle around the circle – and he drew in as much air as he could in his lungs, then let it all out.

It resounded loud and clear, sudden in the silence, stretching in waves of sound that made Dean’s ears ring. When it faded away the silence felt heavier than ever, different somehow – alive. Dean blinked, and there was a tall figure standing in the middle of the circle, like he – _it_ – had been there from the beginning. Impossible of course, Dean hadn’t diverted his eyes for one second.

“Down,” Castiel whispered urgently, and Dean didn’t waste any time thinking about it, just dropped on his knees and bowed, until his forehead almost touched the ground. A series of muffled sound told him that Sam and Castiel had done the same.

It – _he_ – spoke. “Who is calling?”

The voice wasn’t anything Dean expected. It was low and gravelly, curiously human, but it sounded far away, like reaching them from a half-forgotten dream. It reminded Dean of the smell of powder, of humus after rain, of the metallic taste of blood and the hot rush of excitement at that last cry of agony. It was nostalgic, an echo of his childhood, like a lullaby or the jingle of a certain TV show, ham and mashed potatoes the way his mom had done it. Dean shivered, and it wasn’t the cold.

“We are calling, Hunter,” Castiel said, his voice firm but lower than usual, reverent. “We have a deal for you. We want to make an exchange.”

“What is your deal, little man who used to be more?”

The voice sounded closer, suddenly, like Dean could feel the breath of the Huntsman caressing the back of his neck, and he had to resist the urge to raise his head and look. The Huntsman shouldn’t be able to get out of the circle – but it didn’t keep Dean from feeling for the comforting weight of his gun in its holster.

“We have this deer freshly slaughtered for you, Hunter.” Voice even, no reason for alarm – Dean relaxed minutely. “In exchange,” Castiel continued, “we would like to beg you for the lives of a few insignificant humans.”

“I can smell the blood.” The Huntsman’s voice was far away again, like wavering echoes brought by the wind. “Who are the humans?”

“Two men from this town who have recently joined your Hunt. Their names…”

“Names don’t matter. If they have joined the Hunt, then they are ours. They will run with us until the world has forgotten they even had a name.”

“You also have a claim on a woman’s soul. She has yet to join you. Can we bargain for her soul?”

A wind blew, howling and making all the hair on Dean’s body stand.

“The deer is not enough,” the Huntsman said. “The Hunt can kill its own game.”

“What more do you want?”

“What we need is…” And suddenly it was like the Huntsman was whispering to Dean’s ear. “… _hunters_.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, voice tight.

“Your companions are hunters, I can read it in their soul. Give me one of them and the woman can run free.”

The need to raise his head and see what was happening was so strong, Dean could feel his muscles tense under the strain. Then he couldn’t stand it anymore and moved his head, barely, just enough to see at ground level and make out the shape of Sam kneeling.

“This one,” The Huntsman said. “He blew the horn. He comes with us, and you can have the woman.”

Dean couldn’t see the Huntsman but he saw his brother, his shoulders rising like a whale under water. Dean felt a cry build up in his throat, but it was too late. Sam looked up.

“No,” Sam said. “You can’t have him.”

“Sam, no!” Dean shouted. Useless, it was like no one even heard him. The shadow – the Huntsman – moved, the sound of feet scraping against the ground, and it faced Sam.

“If you can look me in the eye, you can hunt with me.”

Dean scrambled on his feet – at the corner of his eye, caught Castiel doing the same – and he ran, not caring if he was breaking the circle, pissing off the powerful entity inside it, turning the whole Hunt against him.

“Shit,” he heard Sam curse. Then everything went dark.

When Dean blinked away the shadows, he was on his hands and knees, stones digging in his palms.

“Dean.” Castiel, his cold hand against Dean’s cheek before he hauled him up by the arm.

“Sam, where’s Sam?” Dean babbled.

“He’s gone. The Huntsman is gone too.”

Dean looked around. It was true – there was no one inside the circle, no one outside but Dean and Castiel and the trees.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, knowing it wasn’t of any use. “Sammy!”

The wind was blowing, the trees rustling softly, but no Sam. Only the night, darker than it was earlier, like the clouds had come back to cover the stars.

\---

Sam struggled to catch his breath; his lungs were burning and the muscles in his thighs were sore. His palms were sweaty, so much he was afraid the shotgun in his hands was going to slip. He could hear the sounds of branches cracking and the howls of the creature they were chasing; harsh breathing, growling, then a gunshot and an inhuman cry of pain. Sam ran faster.

“Get down,” his father shouted, and Sam plunged forward, hit the ground chest first, the shock reverberating in his ribs.

“Up! Follow me!”

Sam got up, so fast he scraped his hands against rocks on the ground. He started to run again, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the wind whistling in his ears, the ground hard and uneven under his feet. His cheeks and nose were numb with the cold, strands of hair were falling in his eyes and he ran, no beginning and no end, just a feeling of eternity, the endlessness of the hunt.

“Sam!”

It sounded like his brother was calling him. Dean, Sam tried to say, didn’t know if anything had come out. The sky was huge, the dogs were barking in his ears. A song was floating around.

My hide unto the Huntsman, so freely I would give, my body to the hounds, for I'd rather die than live…

Sam was cold, so cold. Every muscle in his body hurt, he felt sore to the very marrow of his bones. He was in movement, his chest was pressed against something hard and his fingers tangled in what felt like coarse hair.

Sam opened eyes he hadn’t realized were closed. He was surrounded by tall shadows, human-like figures riding on horses puffing smoke out of their nostrils and with eyes as fiery as fire. The thing under him moved, he felt muscles rolling under skin, and realized he was riding one of those horses.

“Sam…” called a soft voice, high with desperation.

Sam turned his head. Riding next to him, standing out pale against the shadows surrounding them, was Caroline, wide-eyed with fear and disheveled, dirt smeared across her cheek. Sam didn’t understand what she was doing here, what _he_ was doing here for that matter; nothing made sense and he wanted to say something, anything to comfort her but he didn’t have any word, any voice.

“Welcome, Sam.”

The voice coming from behind him was familiar, and it brought Sam a paradoxical mix of fear and comfort. Almost in spite of himself, he turned around.

It looked just like another shadow at first, but maybe Sam’s eyes were getting used to the dark because after a few seconds he could make out details. Wide shoulders draped in fur, a long cloak that seemed made of darkness; but the most striking feature was the head – a mask? –, bone-white, the skull of a deer with pale horns pointing on each side. Two dark holes where there should be eyes, two empty sockets, that somehow managed to give Sam the feeling that he was examined, dissected on the spot like a frog.

“Welcome to the Hunt,” said the Huntsman.

\---

“Fuck.” Dean slammed the door of the Impala shut. “Fucking _fuck_.” He hit the roof with his open hand, but the hollow sound that followed didn’t bring him any satisfaction.

The front door of the house opened and Paul sprung out, Kelly and Anna on his heels.

“Dean!” Paul shouted. “Dean, something happened, there was this man or _thing_ , and I tried to…” His gaze went from Dean to Castiel to the glaringly empty car. “Where’s Sam?”

The dread in his voice said that he knew the answer, or suspected it wasn’t good. But Paul’s eyes were begging Dean to tell him it wasn’t so, wasn’t what it looked like. Twenty-seven and Paul was so _young_ , Dean thought, young in a way that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with luck.

“Sam’s gone,” Dean said bluntly.

He felt pissed mostly, familiar numbness spreading through him and dulling the edge of anything else. It should have alarmed him, but right now he didn’t have the time to work himself to mental health. Paul made a choking noise. The girls, coming from behind him, gathered at his side, and their pale faces and wide eyes said that they’d heard Dean’s declaration.

It was Anna, surprisingly, who was the first composed enough to ask.

“What happened?”

“Negotiations went south. Huntsman decided to take Sam with him. What happened here?”

The kids exchanged looks. “We were all in the living room on the first floor,” Kelly said. “This enormous dude blinked in and out, and when he was gone your doc had disappeared. It went so fast, I didn’t even see him grab her or anything. She didn’t even cry out. And this guy, he was…” She hesitated, her eyes dropping for a second. “It looked like he had a dead animal’s skull instead of a head. With horns.”

“The Huntsman,” Castiel said. “We paid our affront by losing both Sam and the person we were bargaining for.”

“And what about the salt and the protective wards we had?” Paul asked. “Does it mean we have no way of protecting us against these guys?”

“Maybe we don’t,” Dean answered. He glanced to Castiel. “Maybe it’s only because he already had a claim on Caroline’s soul.”

“Maybe,” Castiel said. “I have never dealt with the Wild Hunt before, to be quite honest with you. I have nothing more than hearsays to work with.” He sounded almost apologetic; it made Dean apply a brief but firm pat on his shoulder.

“We need to go back to work,” he said. “There’s got to be something we missed.”

He didn’t feel tired at all, which was alarming in itself since his last hours of sleep were barely more than a distant dream, but he might as well take advantage of it to get shit done. And hopefully, get his brother back before he had the time to miss him keenly. He walked to climb the stairs to the porch without looking back to see if anyone was following him. He heard some rumbling murmurs behind him but they were of no importance. With or without them, he was finding a way out for Sam and Caroline.

The books they’d used to elaborate the ritual were all piled up in the living room, in the corners and by the couch; someone’s attempt at cleaning up. Piles of books generally made him think of Bobby, and it was both soothing and painful, but all Dean felt right now was an urge to kick into them, get them out of his sight because what good that fucking ritual had done them? But if he thought about it, the ritual hadn’t been at fault, it had done what it was supposed to do. There could still be useful information in those books.

Footsteps were coming behind him, and Dean was tempted to ignore whoever it was, not willing to deal with people anymore. There was a rustle of clothes and the floor creaked as the person shifted position, still silent – that fact alone told Dean that it was Castiel who had entered the room.

“Where do we start?” Dean said.

“The ritual worked,” Castiel said, unknowingly echoing Dean’s earlier thoughts. “The problem was that we didn’t have the right leverage. We can still find what it could be. A demon would trick us on principle only, but this is something else we’re dealing with. We still have a chance.”

Dean nodded, took a step forward and picked up a book at random. He dropped on the couch, didn’t take his jacket off but started going through it. He felt distantly that Castiel was moving, probably picking a book too and sitting down. They fell into a busy silence, until the front door slammed loud enough that it startled Dean, made him almost drop his book.

“Goddamn it,” he swore quietly.

Paul, Kelly and Anna stomped in; Dean knew they were not being particularly loud, but each sound they made resonated painfully inside him and he had to dig his fingernails into his palms.

“We want to help,” Paul announced.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” Dean said. He saw Paul’s mouth open to protest. “Not really, you don’t. You just know what we told you.”

“The Wild Hunt,” Kelly said. She had never manifested an inkling of interest in the hunt, not like Paul had, or even Anna, in her quiet and subdued way, and it was surprising she even remembered that.

“It’s more than a name,” Dean said, something harsh in his voice that he hadn’t intended. “It can kill you.” _Or worse. Oh, there’s things so much worse than death._

“Demons can kill you,” Kelly retorted. “You think we were born yesterday? Did you forget about the fucking war that tore apart the country? Don’t lecture us about danger.”

“We can kelp you research,” Anna said. Dean noticed her circling her girlfriend’s wrist with her fingers, pacifying. “I’m really good with research. It’s not dangerous, and we can help Sam.”

Maybe it was how earnest she sounded, how earnest they all looked, but it cut through Dean’s haze. He didn’t know what to do with their spontaneous offer to help, it challenged his ingrained responses. It wasn’t not that they never had any help, there had been Bobby – and it had killed him – and Castiel, but it was different – they were brothers in arms. They had all been in that fight together. Normal people, _civilians_ , they were the kind of people they helped, not the other way around.

“Grab a book,” Castiel said, taking Dean by surprise. “And look for every reference to recorded encounters with the Wild Hunt. We’re looking for a way to bargain for lives taken by the Hunt.”

As one, the kids all turned to look at Dean, like they were asking for permission or confirmation. Dean huffed a laughed, the situation striking him as oddly funny.

“Do as you fucking wish,” he said. “Now I don’t want to hear any of you talk unless you have something.”

\---

Sam had always been good at gauging the passing of time, but time seemed to have lost any meaning now that he was riding with the Hunt. His whole body hurt, but in a remote, easily dismissed way. He didn’t feel any hunger or thirst, which should have been more worrying than it was.

Sam had never been on a horse in his life, and yet he didn’t have any trouble riding the one he’d been assigned. There was no saddle or harness but the animal was unnaturally docile, responding to commands Sam never voiced. Caroline was always riding next to him but they didn’t talk; it seemed like too much work to have an actual conversation, to challenge the grayness and thick silence around them.

Sam wondered sometimes if they were still next to Portland, or even in Oregon. Hell, for all he knew they maybe weren’t on Earth anymore. Long strips of fog frayed around skeletal silhouettes of dead trees. Each sound reverberated oddly, bouncing against the fog like it was a wall; the barks of the dogs, the neighs of the horses, the whispers of the other hunters, shifting shadows and flashes of fire that never warmed the cold seeping through Sam’s bones.

_I wonder what Dean’s doing._

The thought popped up unexpectedly in Sam’s mind, made its way lazily through feelings of numbing cold and debilitating weariness.

_I wonder if he’s looking for me._

_Of course he is, you moron._ Sam sat straighter, pushing with his hands against his horse’s neck. The animal shook his head irritably, smoke ghosting from his nostrils. Sam ignored it. Of course his brother was looking for him, and it was strange, alarming, that Sam could have had any doubt about it.

_This place is doing something to me. I don’t know where I am._

For the first time since he’d been taken, Sam was fully aware of how hard it was for him to form a complete thought. He looked at his hands and saw that the tips of his fingers were white with the cold, yet it didn’t feel too uncomfortable.

_Am I dead?_

Sam felt a hot, quick surge of panic at that idea. He’d thought he wouldn’t mind death, back when they were at war with Lucifer, when death had been a constant around him – _Bobby_ – and his brother were away from him, undercover, looking for information while battling for his sanity against the twisted soul of Haborym, one of the Dukes of Hell. At that time things were grim but simple. It was death or victory. Sam knew what he had to do, and he had done it without any concern for himself.

Those memories were clear in his mind, as clear as the certainty that he didn’t want to die, not anymore. Not like that, condemned to wander eternally amongst the fog and shadows, forever cold and slowly losing himself. And Dean had to be looking for him; for that reason alone, Sam had to make sure there was something left for him to find.

“Dr. Brown,” he called, quietly – he didn’t dare make too much noise and draw the shadows’ attention, even though no one but the Huntsman had seemed to pay any mind to them.

Caroline didn’t say anything, didn’t move from her hunched position on her horse. For a while it had seemed to Sam that all the horses were the same, but now he noticed that hers was lighter than his, its coat more gray than black.

Sam dared raise his voice. “Dr. Brown, please!”

This time she turned around, slowly, like she was moving underwater. The look she gave Sam was dazed, but the fact that she had reacted to his call was enough for him to hope.

“Dr. Brown, do you know how long we’ve been here?”

He was sure she didn’t know any more than he did, but he needed to make her talk, about anything at all, to make her aware of the danger they were in.

“Forever,” she mumbled, and her head lolled to the side, like it was too heavy for her to bear.

“Do you remember my name?”

She blinked. “Sam.”

“Yes, I’m Sam, Sam Winchester. Do you remember _your_ name?”

The question seemed to demand more consideration. Caroline slowly opened her mouth, not really like she wanted to talk but more like she enjoyed the feeling of air inside.

“I think… Caroline.” This seemed to wake her up. “Where are we?” she asked, sounding more alert.

“I don’t know.”

“What are we doing here?”

“I don’t know.” Something was taking shape in his mind, a memory. “Jake Ellison,” he said. That name was of some importance. Not as important as his own name, or his brother’s, but it meant something.

“Jake Ellison,” Caroline echoed. “Mark Ferguson.”

“Mark Ferguson,” Sam said. It was starting to sound like a game. “Castiel.”

Caroline shook her head, pursing her lips. “I don’t know who that is.” She sounded annoyed, like Sam had broken some obscure rule they were playing by.

“He’s a friend,” Sam said. “He was helping us. My brother and him are probably looking for us right now.” It was a little strange to think about something happening outside of the eternal ride. “We have to _do_ something.”

“What can we do?” Caroline looked around helplessly. “Are we dead?”

It was a good sign that she was wondering about it, and that she sounded afraid. Sam didn’t really have a sure answer to that question, but he went with his gut feeling.

“No. I don’t think so. But it can still happen. We need to find Ellison and Ferguson. They must be riding somewhere close.”

Until now Sam had been carried by his horse rather he’d been riding it, so he wasn’t really sure how to do that.

“Faster,” he said. He wanted to get a better idea of the composition of their party. “Go!”

The horse kept going at the exact same pace, and Sam let out a frustrated sigh.

“Maybe he can’t hear you,” Caroline suggested. “Not with his ears.”

Sam frowned, but it made a strange sort of sense.

 _Faster_ , he thought, feeling stupid. That didn’t seem to work either, so instead Sam concentrated on an image of what he wanted the horse to do, seeing them moving between the other riders, searching. The horse accelerated and Sam felt a surge of triumph.

“You have to show him what you want,” Sam told Caroline, twisted his neck to look at her even as he was gaining speed. “With your mind.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed in concentration and her horse started to follow Sam’s. They rode past their usual position and Sam started to look around, really taking in the other riders. Before they had only been shadows, but now he was starting to see them better. Most of them wore fur or leather. Some were masked, like the Huntsman, hiding behind animal skulls, but some weren’t, and Sam could make out their gaunt faces and long, greasy hair. Maybe they had not been in the Hunt for as long as the others. Finally, Sam caught sight of a touch of white among all the grayish and brownish colors of the hunters’ clothes – it was a white shirt, and as he got closer Sam saw that the rider was wearing jeans.

“Dr. Brown,” Sam called. “I think I see one of them.”

She brought her horse trotting at his side.

“Ellison,” she said.

The man had turned his head slightly and indeed, it was Ellison, and he hadn’t been at the top of his form the last time Sam had seen him but it was still a shock to see the blandness in his eyes.

“Mr. Ellison.” Ellison didn’t move and Sam brought his horse closer instead of talking louder. A look around told him that none of the hunters were paying any attention to them. “Mr. Ellison,” Sam repeated. “Mr. Ellison, do you remember me? Sam Winchester.” Ellison looked at him but his gaze traveled over Sam, uninvolved.

“Your name is Jake Ellison,” Sam said. “Do you remember it?” No answer, so Sam tried to grasp at every bit of information he knew about the man. “Do you remember your wife?”

Sam didn’t remember the wife’s name, or if he’d ever learned it, so he turned to Caroline in askance.

“Elise,” she said.

“Do you remember Elise, Mr. Ellison?” Sam asked. Ellison gave him another look, longer than the first, and Sam held his breath. But if there had been a spark somewhere it didn’t have enough fire to keep, and Ellison lost his focus again.

“Try to talk to him,” Sam asked Caroline. “You know him better than I do.”

Caroline nodded and started to ask questions, her voice soft and even in a tone she had never used on Sam. It was probably the tone Dean knew the best. For a long time she tried – minutes and _minutes_ , maybe hours, who could tell? – but she didn’t have any more success than Sam did. After a while, Ellison completely stopped reacting to her voice and just lost himself in his silent contemplation of the shadows riding in front of them.

Sam and Caroline left him when it was obvious that they wouldn’t get anything from him. They kept riding up the line and found another man wearing modern clothes, a big man with a stubble and barely any hair on his head. Sam hazarded that it was Mark Ferguson, but the man never even gave a sign that he had heard him.

“What’s the matter with them?” Caroline asked. Even though no one was looking at them, she was speaking in a low voice. “They hadn’t been taken much before us.”

“I don’t think time means the same thing here,” Sam said. “Besides, they’d been dreaming for a long time before they joined the hunt.”

“Where is _here_ , by the way? I saw the Hunt in the mountains, how could we be anywhere but on Earth?”

“I don’t know,” Sam muttered. This was the most frightening thing of all, not knowing where they were or how much time had passed. How was Dean going to find them, if they were nowhere he could reach?

Caroline’s eyes widened. “It’s not _Hell_ , is it?”

Sam knew enough about Hell to know that it was too changing for them to be sure they weren’t there. And Caroline knew that too, of course, probably better than he did. Sam wondered about what kind of confessions Dean had done to her, what kind of terrible, horrifying things she knew now that she could never have imagined before the war.

“I don’t think it’s Hell,” he said. “I don’t think that’s where the Hunt comes from.”

“What else could…” She cut herself off; she must have felt it like Sam had, that change in the air, that ominous feeling that someone was riding behind them, someone of more consequence than all those dead – undead? – hunters. Sam turned slowly, not wanting to look behind but feeling compelled to.

He wasn’t surprised to see that it was the Huntsman, sitting straight and tall on his monster of a horse. Sam hadn’t seen him since he had been taken – or didn’t remember it if he had – and his presence was overwhelming. It was like all the other riders of the Hunt were mere shadows and he was in full, glorious three dimensions. And there was something else, something that had bothered Sam since the moment they had called him with the horn. Like they had met before – which was impossible, of course. Sam would remember meeting the Hunt before.

“Be ready,” the Huntsman said, in that clipped, too human voice that kept tugging at something in Sam’s mind. “Soon, we will hunt.”

“Yes…” Sam almost bit his tongue. Yes, sir. Yes, _Dad_ , that was what he had been about to say.

But it couldn’t be. Could it?

\---

Dean closed his book. The resulting noise made the others look up; Castiel and Paul were on the floor surrounded by piles of books, Kelly and Anna squeezed together on a worn out chair. Kelly was sleeping, a book open, cover up on the arm of the chair.

“ _T’as quelque chose?_ ” Paul asked. Tiredness made him sprout out French, sometimes. “Did you find something?” he said, back to English.

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Maybe.”

Castiel was looking at him. His expression probably looked inscrutable to anyone else, but Dean knew him well enough. Castiel was thinking he didn’t like the sound of what Dean was saying.

“You’re not thinking about doing anything crazy, are you, Dean?” Castiel said.

Dean smirked. “Do you know me at all, Cas? Craziness is the essence of the hunt,” he said, more to Paul and Anna than Castiel. “Most of the time you have to rely on obscure lore and say-so. You can’t be sure of anything, so if you want to act there’s a point where you have to use your gut instinct. You have to be a little crazy.”

“What does you gut instinct say?” Paul asked.

Dean drummed his fingers on the cover of his book. Mud was drying in flakes on his jeans and he scratched at it. “In that book they say that the Hunt values reverence, which we already knew, but also cleverness. There’s a story about a peasant who outsmarts the Huntsman in a tug of war contest and he’s rewarded with gold. So I thought, why don’t I challenge the Huntsman?” He saw Castiel frown, about to say something. “Respectfully, of course. If I win, I get Sam and Caroline back. If I lose, I join the Hunt.”

Anna made a small sound. “Dean,” she said, very quietly. At her side, Kelly shifted in her sleep.

“If Sam is with the Hunt I can’t leave him there alone. He’d be too bored.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe it’s not too bad, who knows. Ellison sure seemed to get a kick out of his dreams.”

Castiel held his gaze for a moment longer, then diverted his eyes and let out a deep, weary, too human sigh.

“There is no changing your mind,” he said. It didn’t sound like a question. “Even back then I couldn’t talk you into anything.” It was difficult to say if he was talking about when they first met, or about later, during the war.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. The need to apologize had come out of nowhere, and Dean couldn’t quite explain it.

“Don’t be.” Castiel passed a hand on his face. “I can help you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Summoning the Hunt with the horn gives the Huntsman too much power over us. That’s the mistake we made last time. But I think I can help you find the Hunt without using the horn. I…” He moved, sat on his heels in a crouched position. He was looking down at the ground. “Since I’ve ceased to be an angel, I’ve been having these… feelings.”

Dean was stricken by a strange sense of déjà-vu. _I have these dreams, and sometimes they come true._

“What feelings?”

“It took me a while to figure it out, but I think I kept the ability to sense supernatural beings. It was more inconvenience than anything, until now.”

“What do you suggest?”

“The Hunt seems to retreat sometimes on another plane, but they come back. As long as they stay in the area, and now that I have met the Huntsman, I can find them when they make their way back to this plane. The Huntsman has our scent, but I have his too. You will have to be ready to leave at once, though.”

“I will,” Dean said.

“So all we have to do is to wait?” Paul said. “Isn’t there anything else we could do in the meantime?”

“No.” Dean shook his head, held a hand up. “All _we_ , Cas and I, have to do is wait. And then go after the Hunt. Your job is done.”

“But we didn’t do anything!” Paul protested. “We can help more.”

“No, you can’t. There’s nothing to do for the moment. And when there will be, number won’t help in any way. It’s not like we’re gonna attack the Hunt or something.”

“We would lose,” Castiel said.

“Yeah. So thank you for your help, but you should get some sleep now. There’s nothing else you can do.”

Paul and Anna exchanged a look. Kelly moved, groaned, and her eyelids flutter. She opened her eyes and looked around.

“Why are you all looking like that?” she asked. “What did I miss?”

\---

Something was about to change. Sam could see it in all the hunters, the way they were riding straighter, looking more alert. Sam tried to talk to some of them, tried to get Ellison’s attention again, but the whole Hunt was focused on something else.

“Where is he now?” Caroline asked in a voice so low that only Sam was close enough to hear.

No need to ask who she was talking about. They had tried to follow the Huntsman since he had come to talk to them, but he was eluding them, like he was dissolving in the fog and vanishing, only to pop up again in another spot.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I can’t see him anymore.” He couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering around, hoping to catch sight of the Huntsman, even as he had come to understand that he would see him only when he wanted to be seen.

“What’s bothering you?” Caroline asked. “Do you know something that I don’t?”

Sam tore his eyes from the ghostly trees to glance at her. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she had noticed something; it was her job, after all.

“I might have a guess at the Huntsman’s identity,” he said.

“His identity? What do you mean? How can he be anything other than… whatever he is?”

“According to the lore the leader of the Hunt has changed many times over the years,” Sam explained, patting absentmindedly his horse’s head. “All kind of legendary figures are supposed to have led the Hunt. Like, um, King Arthur, for instance.”

“Oh, really.” Caroline remained silent for a moment. “How do you become the leader of the Hunt?”

“I don’t know,” Sam murmured. “It’s supposed to be both penance and reward.”

“Who do you think is this one?”

“It’s only a hunch.” Sam wasn’t ready to mention his father, even to someone who had probably heard everything about him. “I think it may be someone I know.”

“Someone who disappeared? Like Ellison and Ferguson?” Like us, she didn’t say. Maybe she didn’t want to think about it.

“No,” Sam said. “The person I’m thinking about is dead.”

He didn’t have to say anything about it, because everything shifted around them. Caroline let out a startled cry. It was like the fog was a veil that got torn open, leaving the place to darkness, and for a minute Sam couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, and his heart was in his throat, beating madly as he thought feverishly, _is that it, are we dead? Are we in Hell?_ But then his eyes got used to the dark and he saw there were stars in the sky and tall fir trees around them, and he knew where they were. They were back on Earth, back from wherever they had been. They were in the mountains.

“We’re back,” he said in a low voice, as much for himself as for Caroline. He saw her head turn toward him and imagined she was giving him a look. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, and she nodded.

Because if they were back on Earth, it meant that they could be found. They were still themselves, they weren’t lost to the Hunt. They could leave.

“Hunters!” The voice resounded like thunder, and the Huntsman looked larger than life, silhouetted against the sky. “Let’s ride!”

His cry seemed to wake them all. They had all been mute and absent and Sam hadn’t been able to coax a reaction from any of them, but the hunters straightened and raised their fists and bellowed in unison. The Huntsman waved a hand and as one, the hunters broke into a gallop. Sam didn’t have the time to yelp before his horse followed, and Sam could only grab the horse’s mane and hold on for dear life.

It was nothing like the way they were riding before. No more endless, debilitating walk in a dreamlike world, they were riding like they were chasing something – though Sam ignored what it was – the dogs were yelping and barking in excitement and the wind was whistling in Sam’s ears and numbing his face, the speed was making adrenaline rush through his veins and his heart was pounding, pounding. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to stop.

So when it did, it was so sudden that Sam had trouble perceiving the transition. One moment they were riding like it was all there was and all there had ever been, and the next the Huntsman yelled something indistinct and they all stopped.

Sam tried to catch his breath, to look around and see what had caused them to stop. He was close to the head of the line and could hear some voices. He silently ordered his horse to make his way up so he could see what was going on.

“…make you think that you are a match for me, human?” The Huntsman was talking to someone.

“I’m not that presumptuous, Huntsman, but I would be deeply honored if you could give me a chance to try.”

Sam recognized that voice and the realization chilled him to the bones.

“Dean.”

Caroline’s voice startled Sam; he hadn’t been aware that she had joined him.

“What is he doing here?” she whispered.

“Something insane,” Sam said, his eyes glued to the figure of his brother standing in the middle of the pathway, his head bowed.

“What about your friend?” the Huntsman was asking, and that was when Sam realized that Castiel was there too, a step behind Dean and in a similar position.

“My friend is only here to watch,” Dean said. “He won’t cause you any problem, even if I lose.”

Sam wanted to step up and ask for the terms of their deal, protest because he was fairly sure of what they were – Dean was challenging the Huntsman; if he won they would all be free, if he lost Dean would be bound to the Hunt, just like Sam. But Sam found he couldn’t move, couldn’t open his mouth and shout against what was happening.

_Goddamn it._

His fingers pressed against his horse’s neck. He struggled against the invisible hold until he felt like the veins on his forehead were about to pop. His head started to hurt with a vengeance.

“Alright, human,” the Huntsman said. “I accept. Win, and I will let you take your two friends with you. Lose, and you will join us forever.”

Sam couldn’t see his brother’s face but he imagined there was a smirk there.

“It’s a deal.”

A prisoner inside his own mind, Sam screamed.

\---

The rules were pretty simple.

“If you can strike me above my shoulders, you win,” the Huntsman said.

“Okay, but…” Dean said slowly. “How do _you_ win? If you can punch _me_ in the face? Is there some kind of timeframe?”

“You touch my head and you win,” the Huntsman said again, infuriatingly calm, smugness hidden behind that creepy ass mask of his. “We will fight as long as it takes for you to win or give up.”

“And giving up means losing, right?” Dean said.

An exercise in resilience, it was then. The Huntsman was looking at him – or so Dean assumed – and Dean gave him a small nod of acceptance. Maybe it was suicide, like Castiel had kept insisting it was, maybe there was no chance of winning and it was a fool’s deal, like the one he had done so many years ago, his soul for Sam’s life. Maybe it was insane and masochistic like when he had allowed a demon to take over his body against precious information.

 _My sweet, sweet boy_ , Haborym cooed in his mind. _You pain is the most delicious there is._

But despite the uneven odds there was something so simple, so beautifully straightforward in what the Huntsman was offering him that Dean couldn’t resist. He only had to fight, fight and hold on until he could punch the bastard’s face, and _that,_ he was pretty sure he could do.

They traced a circle on the ground and the ghostly hunters gathered around it. Dean could see Castiel, looking odd with his hands thrust in his pockets, and he didn’t need to see the disapproval on his face to know what his friend thought. Dean tried to catch a sight of Sam, or Caroline, or even Ellison, but he didn’t see any of them. _Too late, too late, you’re too late for them_ , the voice in his head sing-sang in rhythm with his heartbeat. There was a possibility that he was going to do this for nothing; but he was standing in the circle with the Huntsman and there wasn’t really any time left for him to change his mind.

They circled each other for a while. Dean was having trouble gauging the Huntsman’s exact height – sometimes he looked huge, sometimes about Dean’s height – and it was throwing him off. The Huntsman’s didn’t show any openings, and he seemed to have all the patience in the world. Something had to give, Dean thought, and he threw the first punch. The Huntsman dodged easily, but it set things in motion.

They danced again in circle for a few minutes, before starting to trade blows, hard and fast. The Huntsman caught Dean on the jaw, making him taste blood in his mouth. A second blow hit him in the ribs, and a third grazed his temple. Dean took a few steps back, blinking a few times to clear the dizziness.

“Giving up?” the Huntsman said. The bastard didn’t even sound out of breath.

“Fuck no,” Dean said. He coughed, spit out saliva tinged with blood. “Come on, Hunter.”

With that creepy skull there was no way to see the Huntsman’s expression, but his head nodded minutely in what Dean hoped was appreciation. Or maybe puzzlement, who knew. Dean didn’t have any more time to think because this time it was the Huntsman who made his move first, and Dean barely avoided a fist in his face. The fight started again, and it became quickly obvious that the Huntsman had been holding back until now. The blows were coming fast as bursts of gunfire. Dodge, step aside, block, step back, dodge again. Around them from the circle of hunters came a rumble, louder and louder, cries of victory and calls to kill.

“ _Deah, death, death! For the Hunt! His blood, his body, his soul!_ ”

A harsher blow caught Dean in his midriff and knocked the wind out of him. He stumbled backward, and would have fallen if not for the firm hands on his shoulder. Dean expected it to be Castiel, but when he turned his head he was surprised to see Sam looking at him.

“Sam,” he breathed out, relief so strong it washed over his aches for a moment. “Are you…”

Sam looked pale and shaky, his breathing loud like he was fighting something, but his eyes were alert. His mouth was curved down in grimace.

“You stupid asshole,” he whispered. “Be careful. The Huntsman, I think he’s Dad.”

Before Dean had time to process what was said and formulate a reply, Sam gave him a hard shove between his shoulder blades and Dean stumbled back in the ring. The Huntsman was standing in the middle, seemingly waiting for him. This time he didn’t ask if Dean was giving up. The shouts from the rest of the Hunt had somewhat toned down, and all Dean could hear was his own deafening heartbeat. Sweat was running down his forehead, dripping into his eyes. His vision was swimming, his arms and legs were trembling from exhaustion.

Dad. That was what Sam had said. No hints about why or how, but Dean instinctively knew he was right. Those _moves_ , Dean had grown up with them, had been more than once thrown to the ground by those fists. Dean took a deep breath. It should have made things more complicated, would have once upon a time, but to Dean right now everything was clear and simple. He released his breath, and launched himself forward, an inarticulate cry of war on his lips.

Everything blurred into a flurry of motions. If the hunters were still shouting, Dean couldn’t hear them. For all he knew maybe they weren’t here anymore. He couldn’t feel the pain, couldn’t feel the tiredness in his bones, even as black dots danced in front of his eyes. Time was stretching into the heat of the fight. Then a fist caught him on the right side of his face and Dean was propelled a few yards away.

“Dean!”

Dean’s instinct was to think it was Sam calling for him, but it was Castiel’s voice, and he sounded like never before. He sounded _scared_ , but that idea was too wrong to contemplate.

“No, Dean!”

 _This_ was Sam. Dean was on his knees, face turned to the ground. A wave of nausea overcame him and he threw up, right there in the mud. He heard heavy steps come closer, familiar steps. _Dad._

“Are you giving up?”

Dean didn’t say anything, and the Huntsman took a few more steps. _Come closer, c’mon, c’mon._

“You have to say the words. Are you giving up?”

Dean could see the Huntsman’s feet right in front of him.

“I…” Dean said, his voice barely more than a murmur. Not a sound was coming from the ghostly hunters and the silence was eerie. “I am…”

“What do you say?”

Dean’s heart was pounding faster but he made himself not move a muscle. Slowly, the Huntsman started to crouch to his level. When he was close enough, Dean moved, faster than he thought he could, throwing a punch up, until he felt his knuckles crash against something hard.

The crowd exclaimed and yelled. Dean fell back on his ass, breathing hard, cradling his throbbing fist against his chest.

“ _Shit_. That fucking _hurts_.”

The Huntsman was sitting on the ground too, propped on his hands with legs sprawled in front of him. The skull mask he wore had shifted and Dean could see some of his face through the animal’s eye socket – a gleaming eye. Dean’s heart caught in his throat.

_Dad._

He didn’t say the word, and the moment passed. The Huntsman rose to his feet and put the mask back in place.

“You won,” the Huntsman said. He sounded like John Winchester and didn’t at the same time. “You can take your friends with you – the man named Sam Winchester and the woman named Caroline Brown.”

“What about…”

“Any other belongs to the Hunt.” There was a warning in his tone, and Dean didn’t insist. He pushed himself up, but a wave of dizziness hit him and he had to steady himself with a hand on the ground. When it passed, he slowly got to his feet, mindful of his aching body. Dean started to walk to Sam, who was standing anxiously at the edge of the ring, when the Huntsman’s call stopped him.

“There is something you have to do.”

“Yeah?” Dean wondered if he sounded respectful enough, but he was too tired to care much.

“You have a horn, the one you used to call me.”

Dean turned. “Do you want it back? Because we don’t need that…”

“No. Destroy it. We will go back to our hunting grounds and no one will disturb us again.”

Dean swallowed and nodded. “Okay. We’ll do that.”

He turned his back to the Huntsman again, started walking – or rather _limping_ – to his brother.

“Good luck, Dean.”

Maybe it was Dean’s imagination, the delusions of an exhausted mind, but he thought he could hear approval in the voice.


	3. Full of Sound and Thunder, Epilogue & Notes

**Epilogue**

 _July 2011_

“…then the screaming stopped and the demons were all laughing. There was blood on my hands, except that it didn’t look like my hands. It was like… random disembodied hands floating in front of me.” Dean took a deep breath. “So it was the first time, I think. The first time that he, I mean, the demon, that he took control of my body.”

Caroline nodded, while she reviewed clinically the horrors Dean had shared. It was the most that he’d said until now, though she knew there was much worse coming. He was looking at her, eyes clear and lucid, but she didn’t want to draw attention to that victory just yet.

“Were you aware the whole time?”

“Yeah.” Dean was holding himself very still, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, like he thought a move was all it would take to shatter him. “Most people aren’t, you know, the demons keep them asleep as much as possible. They don’t like the parasite noise, I guess.”

“So why were you? Aware, I mean.”

A muscle twitched on Dean’s cheek. “My case was a special one.”

“How so?”

“You know why,” he said, his tone belligerent, almost petulant like a child. “My brother explained it to you.”

“He did, but I would like to hear it from you.”

“A ritual.” Dean swallowed, and his hand rose to rub at a spot on his chest. “A seal was burned into my skin – it kept the demon inside, and it allowed me to keep some control over my body. Control meant that I could never stop being aware.”

“Could you sleep?”

“I told you. I could _never_ stop being aware, or _he_ would have taken over completely. The demon meant that physical exhaustion was never an issue. _Now_ can we drop it, can we…”

“We’ll call it a day. How are you feeling right now?”

“Like I need to jump out of my fucking skin,” he mumbled, rubbing convulsive circles on the arm of his chair. “You’re always asking so many fucking stupid questions.”

“You didn’t dissociate today.” She allowed herself a smile. It had been a long road, getting there, and they had so many other subjects to reach – like _Hell_ , and Caroline’s mind recoiled a little at the insane concept – but it was encouraging progress.

“I didn’t?” Dean’s face broke slowly into a smile, the first she’d ever seen from him. “You’re right, I didn’t.”

He looked so proud of himself, it was quite endearing, really.

“We’ll see each other on Thursday,” she said evenly. “Have a good day, Dean.”

\---

 _January 2014_

The knocking on the door was so goddamn irritating.

“Sam!” Dean bellowed from the couch he was lying on. “Sam, the fucking door!”

Except that Sam wasn’t here, Dean remembered, he’d gone to see Ellison’s wife.

“Somebody? Paul? Cas?” he called hopefully, but no one answered.

The house was empty. Paul was probably at work, Kelly and Anna in class and God only knew where the fuck Castiel was. There was another knock on the door, and Dean cursed under his breath. He could ignore it – who would blame him, he was wounded after all. But something made him sit up with a pained groan, a hand pressed against his sore ribs, throw his legs off the couch and get up to limp to the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to find Caroline stand in front of him.

“Good morning, Dean,” she said with a small smile.

“Oh, hey, Doc. What’s up?”

Her eyes travelled to his chest, at the hand he was holding against it, and she frowned. Dean let his hand drop against his side, feeling self-conscious.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” he said, trying for a wide grin to comfort her, though of course she could see right through him like no one else could. “I’ve had worse. How are _you_ holding up? What happened, I know it’s not easy to deal with something like that.”

“I’ll be fine, but this is related to why I came to see you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I…” Her eyes wavered, and she broke eye contact with him, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “I’m taking a break. I have family down south, in Eugene, and I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Um, okay,” Dean said, unsure why she had thought she had to come to tell him in person. “Have a nice vacation, then. How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure yet. A few weeks, maybe a month? I just need to get away from here.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“So, I…” She rummaged through her purse, getting a small card out of it, then she held it out to Dean. “This is the number of a colleague of mine, in case you needed it while I’m gone.”

“Thank you.” Dean pocketed the card, fully intending on never using that number. There was no way he was going through the whole process of baring himself in front of a stranger all over again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

She had her hands joined in front of her, the way she usually did on her desk and it seemed to boost her confidence.

“Why did you go to Tillamook Forest? What were you looking for? You told me ‘you had to see it’.”

“Oh, that.” She pressed her lips together. “It’s probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I really should have known better.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Do you know that I’ve never seen a demon? Except for what was shown on TV, of course.”

Dean frowned. “Really?”

“Yes. Portland was evacuated pretty early, and I was in the first wave. The camp I lived in was miraculously preserved from all attacks, except for a few incidents that I never witnessed myself.” She smiled wryly. “It’s like I slept through the most devastating event the world has ever known. I’ve heard all about demons, of course, from my patients, from _you_. And knowing about it, doing the job I do, it changes everything. The world isn’t what I thought it was, it’s never _been_ , only I wasn’t aware of it. I didn’t know what to think of what Ellison was telling me. I had to _see_.”

“Well.” Dean cleared his throat. He didn’t know what to say to that confession, what kind of comfort she could get from him, a broken hunter who’d lived his life with what she was struggling so much to understand. Saving lives was so much easier than saving minds, he thought. “Now you know,” he said.

“Now I know.” She huffed a laugh, like she’d heard something funny in what he’d said. “I should thank you for saving my life.”

“I was just doing my job.” He smirked. “If I don’t owe you anything, then you don’t owe me anything either.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you anyway. And give my thanks to your brother too. It really helped, having him with me when we were… _there_.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

He debated whether to shake her hand, or pat her shoulder, or – God help him – give her a _hug_ ; but the thought of doing any of that was way too awkward, so he simply nodded. She smiled. They exchanged goodbyes, and he watched her walk away, feeling inexplicably sad.

\---

“Thank you.”

Sam took the cup of tea Mrs. Ellison – _Elise_ – had just served him, and had a small sip that burned the tip of his tongue. The silence was starting to feel oppressive, and Sam wasn’t sure how to break it. He wished he’d taken his brother with him – not that Dean was the most tactful person in the world, but it would have been nice to have someone to feel awkward with. Mrs. Ellison hadn’t asked him any question, had barely spoken at all, except for greetings and asking him whether he’d like some tea.

The small black cat, Lizzy, was rubbing against his ankles and purring softly. Sam was allergic to cats, but he still leaned over to pat her clumsily on the head.

“Good girl,” he murmured, feeling silly. He’d never had any pets.

“My husband is dead, isn’t he?” Mrs. Ellison said.

Sam straightened up in a jerk, startled by the sudden question.

“Well, um…”

It wasn’t like he hadn’t known that the subject would come up – it was the reason for his visit after all – but he still found himself at a loss for words. How could he explained to that woman what exactly had happened to her husband, what was still happening to him? That he was riding a horse with a horde of undead hunters in another dimension, that he didn’t remember his own name, didn’t remember _her_ , and would stay like that for all eternity.

“Yes, he’s dead. The Hunt killed him. We were too late for him, I’m sorry. And they, they took his body too.”

Her eyes dropped and for an alarming moment he thought she was going to break down crying. He wondered in panic if he had any tissues on him. But she let out a shaky breath and when she looked up at him, her eyes were dry. She managed a thin smile.

“Thank you for trying. What about the… the things that took my husband. The Hunt. Are they…”

“They’re gone. They won’t come back.” Sam sounded surer than he really was, but she seemed to accept the answer.

“Do I need to pay you for…”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. Dr. Brown was the one who hired us, she already paid our fee.”

“Oh, okay. I wasn’t sure.” She was playing with the hem of her woolen sweater, and Sam realized suddenly that she wanted to be alone but didn’t know how to dismiss him.

“I have to get going,” he said. “My brother’s waiting for me.”

It made it sound like Dean was a ten-year old kid left alone at home, but it was worth it for the look of relief on her face. What Dean didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“But, your tea…” she said. It was a weak protest and they both knew it.

“I’ll finish it.”

Sam took the cup to his lips and gulped it all at once. It scalded his throat on the way down. Sam coughed, feeling the warmth of the tea heat up his cheeks and make him sweat.

“Thank you for the tea,” he said as he got to his feet, holding out his hand for Mrs. Ellison to shake.

“Thank you for coming. Thank you for telling me.”

He forced a smile at her. She escorted him out and when the door closed behind him, with a definitive _click_ , he had to swallow an uncomfortable feeling of guilt. She had looked genuinely grateful, even though he hadn’t saved her husband – _I tried, damn it, I really did_ –, even though he had lied to her. But he knew what it was, the _knowing_. How unbearable it felt. Lying to her was only mercy.

A ride on the bus later and Sam was back at the house, where he found Dean sitting on the front steps instead of lying on the couch as he had left him. His brother was sipping a beer, one of those Kelly got at the campus black market.

“Hey, bro,” he said when he saw Sam. He held out another beer to him. “I got one for you, too. Tell me I’m awesome.”

Sam gratefully took the bottle. It was still cool – not that there were many chances it got warm with this weather. It numbed the tips of Sam’s fingers.

“Thank you, oh awesome one,” he said, and sat by his brother on the steps. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Dean took another sip of beer. “Got a visit from Caroline. Said she was taking a break, going to see some family of hers.”

“Oh, that’s good. She probably needs it.”

“What about you?” Dean gave him a long look. “You wanna go somewhere?”

Sam snorted. “Where would we go? We’ve seen all of the US and we can’t get you on a plane. Nah, better save the money. Gas is way too expensive.” He uncapped his beer and took a long, soothing sip. “I told Mrs. Ellison her husband was dead.”

“Well, there wasn’t much else to tell.”

“Is it true, though? Is he dead? Are they all dead? I wasn’t dead, Caroline wasn’t either. Maybe they’re something between dead and alive.”

“Dad is dead,” Dean said. “We burned his body.”

Sam looked at him. They had avoided the subject until now, and he hadn’t expected his brother to be so blunt about it.

“Yeah,” he said. “He looked so solid.” Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand how it all works.”

“What do you think it’s like for him?” Dean said. “Being the leader of the Wild Hunt.”

“Reward and penance,” Sam murmured, more for himself than for Dean. “I don’t know, but he’d been a hunter for so long when he was living. Maybe it’s not that much different.”

“It probably beats Hell,” Dean said, and from the purse of his lips Sam knew it was all his brother was going to say on the topic.

“One more hunt as paid professionals,” Sam said, tipping his beer to Dean. “Even if your solution was crazy and suicidal.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Personally, I call it bold. Come on, Sam. Am I going to be on suicide watch for the rest of my life? It’s been years.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Do you really think I tried to die?”

“No,” Sam said softly. He could see the fight with his mind’s eyes, as real as if it was happening again in front of them. He’d been so scared, but he wasn’t lying when he told Dean he didn’t think he’d tried to die. “The way you fought back there, it didn’t look like you were trying to get yourself killed. It looked like you were trying to punch his lights out.”

Dean grinned. “And I did.”

“Yes, you did. And you know, I’m sure the experience was quite traumatic for Caroline, but it had a different effect on me. For the first time, in a very long time, I really wanted to live and not just survive. None of the Hunt’s bullshit half-life.” He tipped his index against the glass of his beer. “I want this.”

“You want beer?” Dean said, arching an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean. Having you with me, and the friends we made. I don’t know if we deserve it, but I want to enjoy what we have.”

“Yeah. I’ll drink to that.”

They both drank, perfectly synchronized the way they were sometimes. Sam put the bottle next to him and leaned back, resting his elbows behind him.

“Look who’s coming,” Dean said, and when Sam glanced in the direction he was pointing at he saw Castiel walk to them, leading a bike that squeaked as it rolled.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said.

“Where have you been?” Dean asked.

“I went to get another bike. Your friend Paul gave me an address.” He pointed at Sam’s beer bottle. “Can I have one of these?”

“In the cooler in the kitchen,” Dean said. His mouth twisted. “Are you leaving already?”

Castiel rested his bike against the stairs’ railing.

“I’ll stay a few more days if you’ll have me. I have yet to see a lot of Portland.”

“Stay as long as you want,” Sam said. “The house is big.”

Castiel nodded, and went into the house to get himself a beer. When he came back he sat on a step down from Sam and Dean and they drank in companionable silence. They stayed there until it started raining.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_gen_bigbang challenge. To give credit where credit is due: thank you to reapertownusa for her helpful beta! And thank you to my artist, geckoholic, who was a pleasure to work with. Don't forget to check [her post](http://bl00dredskies.livejournal.com/75901.html), which includes a mix that covers the entire 'verse! This story is a sequel, but I did my best to make it stand on its own. I do think however that it's more enjoyable if you know the context provided by the other fic, so I wrote a summary of the first fic, "Hover Through the Fog and Filthy Air" that you can find [here](http://chiiyo86.livejournal.com/38778.html#cutid3).


End file.
